


Help Me Get My Feet Back On the Ground

by burnyoursage (tricksterJANE)



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Sexual Spanking, Spanking, Very Heavy on the Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-29 09:30:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17805476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tricksterJANE/pseuds/burnyoursage
Summary: After the "Bigger Than Jesus" fiasco John is having a hard time emotionally, Brian steps in to help him sort things out.





	Help Me Get My Feet Back On the Ground

**Author's Note:**

> Listen, this is so self-indulgent that I don't even consider these people the real Beatles. They're basically a manifestation of my view of the Beatles at 12, when I first discovered them. Nothing in this fanfic is real in anyway except for the "Bigger than Jesus" Controversy. Obviously this is un-beta'd, feel free to inbox me any grammar corrections. - Also not to be that guy but if you're not into the subject matter don't read this. Also-also this isn't supposed to be shippy!

Brian was concerned, it had been a week since the “Jesus Fiasco” and John was still out of sorts. He’d been short with everyone, needling and making jokes just short of being insults. Mood swings seemed to be a staple, from furious to distraught to arrogant, all within the same sentence. The final straw for Brian was at a hotel in New York, they’d come back from lunch early because John had been in a mood and almost got into a fight with the waitstaff.

“Christ Epstein,” John shot him a glare as they trooped back into one of their shared rooms. “Don’t tell me you didn’t think that twat deserved a good left-hook?”

The twat in question was a waiter who had implied that they were a group of self-important upperclassmen every time he opened his mouth. This went on until Ringo requested a second glass of wine, the waiter eyed his jewelry before snipping, “ _Of course your majesty._ ” Any other day they would have laughed it off after he left, but John stood up abruptly. Staring the man down. 

For one awful moment Brian was sure it was going to be a brawl, already thinking of the bad press to follow, before the waiter turned and hurried back to the kitchen. John still stood, chest heaving, abruptly stalking outside to smoke by the door. Brian sent the Paul and George out to stand with him, before taking Ringo to find the owner and complain.

After he finished his ‘very indignant British person’ routine, (“Never! Never In all my years have I been treated in such a manner!” The owner was mortified and insisted on paying their tab.) Ringo giggling by his side, the left to collect the others.

\-------------->

“Well John it didn’t matter if he deserved a left-hook or not, it wasn’t your place to give it!” Brian sighed, looking as exasperated as he felt. “Think of what could have happened if you did, the papers would have had a field day!”

John went white with fury, eyes flashing wildly. “Oh, I’m sorry! I forgot that you only care about our _fuckin’ public image!_ ” He roughly shook Paul’s hand off his shoulder, standing nose to nose with Brian. “I could give _a fuck_ Epstein, but apparently that’s all you care about! You don’t even care about us! You just want our fuckin’ money!” His chest was heaving again, he’d been poking Brian’s chest during his outburst. For a moment Brian closed his eyes, trying to will back his anger, thinking about what George had told him on the way back to the hotel. Apparently, back in Liverpool, John would get into fights when he was distraught. He’d apparently done so when Julia passed, George recalled Mimi patching him up more than once in the following months.

“Alright,” Brian said, opening his eyes. “We need to have a chat.”

“Wh-what?” John tensed as Brian gripped his upper arm, pulling him to the door. “Goddamn it Epstein where are you taking me?” 

Brian ignored him, turning to the other three Beatles, who were gaping at the scene. “Stay put, we’ll be back.” 

“Brian! Let me go damn it!” The muscles in John’s arm rippled as he tried to pull away, but Brian simply moved with him, causing the younger man to stumble and steady himself on the wall. “Stop!” 

“I’m afraid I can’t do that Lennon. Ah hello Mal,” Brian greeted his assistant. Mal stood in the doorway, looking as shocked as the three other Beatles did. “John and I need to have a talk, we’ll be in room, er, 403 was it?” He turned to John, who was gawking at him.

“Erm, yeah? _Wait-_ I mean no! We’re not going anywhere!”

Brian rolled his eyes, pulling John out into the hallway, before turning to shut the door. “Ta boys,” he gave them a serious look. “Stay with Mal.” He finally closed the door, pulling a spluttering John down the hallway to the other room, digging in his pocket for the key. 

“Brian! I’m-I’m warning you!” John shouted, as he was pulled into the room, door shut by Brian behind him. “I’ll, er…“ He trailed off, apparently at a loss for what to threaten.

“John,” Brian sighed. “Can you scream a tad quieter? I’ve developed quiet the headache.” He turned to lock the door, no need for some drunken patron to wander into the thick of their argument. “Now, let’s talk.”

“Oh fuck off! I’m not talking to you!”

“Christ John, alright!” Anger bubbled up in his chest despite his best efforts to remain calm. “We won’t talk! I’ll just take you over my damn knee then!” 

Silence followed this declaration, John stared at him with huge eyes. Brian had been mostly exaggerating, but the expression on John's face gave him pause. Perhaps this was something he needed, he had been acting like a naughty child the whole week. It almost struck Brian funny, how much John had been acting like a cranky toddler who’d missed his nap. Quickly making his decision, he started to pull John to the couch. 

“Get off me Epstein!” John barked, breaking out of his stupor and once again attempting to wrench his arm out of Brian’s tight grip. “Stop fuckin’ touchin’ me!” 

“Why?” Brian said casually, as if he and John were just having a chat over tea. “Do you not trust me? Do you think I wouldn't do what's best for you?”

John sat down on the couch so fast it almost set Brian off-balance, his hand moving up to rest on John’s shoulder. “No!” John's voice broke, twisting up to give Brian a panicked look. “No Eppy, I-I trust you but...” he trailed off, looking down at his folded hands.

Brian’s cold anger thawed a little at the nickname, the one given to him by his boys. They all used it, but only when they were comfortable. So the appearance of it in this conversation meant that John was being serious. He sat next to John squeezing his shoulder in (what he hoped was) a reassuring way, giving him an almost lazy smile. “So, you trust me then?” He kept his hand on John’s shoulder. “You know why I’m doing this?”

“I-I suppose.”

“Well then,” he suddenly tipped John forward, using a surprising amount of strength to tuck John neatly over his lap. “You bloody well need this. All this moping about isn’t helping anybody, especially you.”

John had squeaked at the impact, but stayed silent after that, gripping Brian’s leg. It was all Brian needed for confirmation that this was what John needed. The “bigger than Jesus” fiasco had left him sullen and nervous, neither of them a good mindset for the guitarist.

“Now,” Brian said primly, “We’ll get this over with, you’ll have a nice kip, and you’ll be right as rain. Might even meet the boys for some supper, I haven’t decided yet, what’d you think of Italian?”

“Bri-wha? _Brian!_ ” John’s voice was high, “I’m over your bloody lap like a naughty schoolboy!”

Brian gave Johns hair a ruffle, mussing his moptop to something akin to a child who just woke up. “Yes, yes I know that. But life goes on, and I’d like your opinion on supper.”

John kicked a leg out suddenly, the anger from earlier returned. “ _It’s fine!_ Italian sounds fine! can we please just get this over with!”

“Alright.” Was all that Brian said, patting Johns’ backside twice before delivering a sharp smack. John squeaked again, before clapping a hand over his mouth. Tsking Brian continued his onslaught, methodically swatting in a very manager-like way. “I know you’re upset about what happened,” He said suddenly, still peppering swats. “But you’ve done the right thing luv, you apologized like we asked you to do. All the religious types have calmed their feathers, and we’ve got to move on. No use stewing in it.”

John gave a twitch over his lap and a sob worked its way out from behind his hand. Brian sighed, he’d prepared himself for a very vocal Beatle, but it was just like John to subvert every expectation you could possibly make about him. Angry at the slightest mistake, but laughing in the face of disaster. “Come now lad,” Brain all but cooed. “It’s alright now, you’ve been forgiven.” He’d meant the public had forgiven John (more or less) but didn’t get a chance to elaborate, because John went limp across his lap sobbing broken-heartedly. His body was heaving with the force of them, broken syllables tumbling out that Brian was straining to understand.

“ _M’sorry!_ ” he finally choked out, voice thick with tears. “ _M’so sorry!_ ”

Brian stopped, it was never really about the swats anyway, (he only got in about 13 or so) it was about this. John finally (finally) being able to let go completely, no holding back and putting on a stiff upper lip. He rubbed John's back, feeling the muscles tremble under his hand. “That’s it,” he soothed. “Let it all out luv, you’ll feel good as new.”  
John continued to sob like the world were ending, which concerned Brian enough that he nudged him upright. (“Up you get, there’s a good lad.”) Settling him back on his lap, (upright this time) enclosing him in his arms. Guiding John’s face into his shoulder, palm splayed in his hair, felt right. As did John’s pointy nose buried in his neck, tears dampening Brian’s collar.

“Br-brian I’m so sorry!” Hot, hitching breaths were puffed into the older man’s shoulder. “Please I’m sorry I-“ He broke off on a sob, arms constricting around Brian’s middle.

Suddenly it all snapped into place, Brian could have slapped himself. Of course John thought he was still in his bad graces. He had issues with men, first his father leaving and then his uncle (technically.) The thought that he did anything to drive Brian away must be suffocating him. “Oh no Darling,” he soothed, rocking the boy in his arms back and forth. “I’m not mad at you in the slightest. You’ve handled this all so well, I’m very proud of you.” The sobs increased for a moment, before John’s tense body relaxed. Still crying, but not as harshly, he sounded relieved. He sagged against Brian, arms still clinging tight to the older man’s midsection. Brian continued to rock, turning to press his mouth on top of the mussed hair. “There now,” He murmured into it. “How’re you feeling now?”

“Better, much better. Thank you Eppy.”

Brian laughed, squeezing him a little tighter. “Not many people would be thankful for a bum-warming.”

John huffed, some of his spark that was dampened by the incident shining back through. “You know what I mean,” he inhaled a shivery breath. “Thank you for-for… everything.”

“You’re welcome dear boy.” Brian hesitated a moment before kissing John’s hair again. “I love you very much.”

Something that could have been a laugh and could have been a sob escaped John’s lips. “L-love you too Eppy.”

After that they sat quietly for some time, John’s breathing evening out until it was so slow Brian was sure he’d fallen asleep. Tutting he shifted him fully onto the sofa, fussing with the pillows and covering him with the bed comforter. He paused, brushing his hand over the younger man’s bangs, smiling in a fond way. “Sleep well,” he murmured, once again leaning down to press a kiss into his hair. He wasn’t able to stop himself now that he’d started, sure that kisses would soon extend to his other boys as well.

Speaking of his other boys, he’d need to have a conversation with them about what happened. Maybe a quick warning that, while in a much better headspace, John was still a little fragile at the moment. With that thought got up to reach the phone, getting the hotel to put him through to the hotel room he’d left the others in.

“Hullo?”

“Oh hullo Mal, it’s Brian.”

“I know Brian,” Mal teased, laughter crackling through the phone.

“Lord, I’m sorry Mal, it’s force of habit.”

“It’s fine Epstein, what can I do you for?”

“I need to talk to the boys about the, erm, Jesus situation. Me and John have had a chat and I think it’s been… cleared up.”

There was a brief silence on the phone, before Mal let out a short laugh. “Brian, they waited two minutes before charging out the damn door. I’d check the hallway if I were you.”

Brian swore quietly into the phone, before thanking Mal and hanging up. “Honestly,” he thought to himself, “it really is like having children.” Looking out the peephole he was greeted to the sight of Paul leaning against the opposite wall, arms crossed, with Ringo sitting on the floor by his feet. George was either out of his peripheral, or against the same side as the door. Sighing he opened the lock, causing Paul’s head to snap back from where he was looking down the hall. “Alright Brian?” he said crisply, as soon as the door was open.

“Hello boys,” Brian turned and saw George walking down the hall, stopping next to Ringo who was now standing. “Yes, everything’s alright now, we’ve had a… conversation and- “

“We heard.” Paul cut off ignoring Ringo’s quiet admonishment.

“Ah, well I was afraid of that.” Brian pushed a hand through his hair, feeling very old in that moment. “Well you lot might as well come in, please try not to disturb John.”

Paul set his jaw, shrugging Ringo’s hand off his shoulder. “Fine.” he spat out, walking stiffly into the hotel room.

“Eppy…” Ringo was suddenly holding his hand, “Paulie just thinks you’ve- Paulie’s er…” He trailed off, turning to give George a pleading look.

“He’s huffy, thinks you thrashed John to an inch of his life.” The youngest Beatle ignored Brian’s attempt to interrupt. “Quiet. Now we know you didn’t really, in fact I think you did the best you could’ve done for ‘im. But Johnny’s a posh boy, not as tough as us slum boys.” he bumped shoulders with Ringo, “An’ Paulie thinks he can’t take any sterner stuff than a good scolding.” George paused, seriously meeting Brian’s gaze with his dark brown eyes. “Now, d’ya think you’ve done right by ‘im?”

Brian didn’t even hesitate, remembering the feeling of John’s wet face in the crook of his neck. “One hundred percent certain.”

“Good!” George gave his manager a small smile. “Then Paulie’s gonna have to get over it.”

“Thank you George,” Brian reached out to George, squeezing both of the hands captured in his grasp. “And Rich, thank you as well.”

“You’re welcome Eppy.” George and Ringo echoed, before the three men joined the other two in the hotel room.

\-------------->

The men were greeted to the sight of Paul on the floor next to the couch, head resting on John’s shoulder.

“Paul,” Brian called quietly, watching as he raised his head but stayed facing John’s sleeping body. “Can we have a quick chat?”

“Sure.” Somehow able to cram a single word with all of his anger. Standing and walking in a clipped pace to the kitchen, ignoring the look George sent him.

“Good luck Eppy,” George bumped his shoulder, before he and Ringo took Paul’s place at John’s side.

Brian joined Paul in the kitchen, sighing at the site of him sitting stiffly on the counter. “Paul,” He stood, arms crossed. “Please come sit at the table, I’d like to talk.”

“Just like your chat with John then?”

“I wasn’t planning on it, but you seem to be acting like you need one.”

That got Paul’s attention and for the second time Brian prepared himself for a raging Beatle, and was met with bashful acceptance. Paul blushed deeply, pushing himself off the counter and joining Brian where he’d sat at the table, eyes downward. “Y-you wouldn’t,” he mumbled.”

“Wouldn’t what?”

“Wouldn’t give me ah- a smacking, with the other lads here, would you?”

“No Paul, I wouldn’t, but you lot heard what happened to John.”

“Eppy that’s different!” The threat of swats had, apparently, chased the defiance right out of Paul, he was like a bashful child. “I had to-to make sure he was okay! The way he was acting before, he was-” He broke off, his eyes wide and worried.

Brian reached out to grasp Paul’s hand, feeling the calluses on the pads of his fingers. “I know, but this is what he needed Paul. He was so filled with guilt and shame there wasn’t room for anything else. I didn’t even get more than ten good ones in lad, it wasn’t ever about hurting him.”

Paul deflated, his shoulders relaxing, leaning forward to rest his forehead on their clasped hands. “Thank you.” He said in a thick voice.

“None of that now Paulie, come here.” Brian cooed, and for the second time that day he was stood, with a crying Beatle in his arms. He knew the Jesus fiasco was rough on the others, the stress must have been eating at Paul as well as John.

“There Darling, it’s all fine now.” Again he guided a damp face into the crook of his neck, hand soothing unruly hair. “Everything’s fine.”

Paul’s breath hitched, “I’m s-sorry I was rude.”

“Forgiven,” Brian leaned to kiss Paul’s temple, déjà vu nagging at the back of his mind. “You were under a lot of stress.”

Paul laughed, pulling back to wipe his eyes, before Brian reached to hold either side of his face, tipping his forehead to kiss it.

“What’s this then Brian?” He was grinning cheekily, doe eyes sparkling. “Going soft?”

“Brat,” he teased, “It’s hard not to in my old age.”

Paul laughed quietly, turning to re-enter the other room, Brian followed him out. They were greeted to the site of a bleary John sitting with George and Ringo on either side of him. “We’re being invaded.” He informed Brian solemnly, before standing and embracing Paul. No words were passed between them, but Brian was sure they were in deep conversation. 

He took John’s spot in the couch, looping his arms around his oldest and youngest. Leaning for a third and fourth time that day to press a kiss to a temple, before pressing them both close to his sides. “I love you lot,” he said aloud. “And I don’t care if that makes me soft.” The boys all laughed, John and Paul still in their embrace. 

Brian sighed, finally relaxing into the couch, eyes closed. Mentally he made a note to ask Mal to phone a reservation to some Italian place.

**Author's Note:**

> It's my fanfic and that means I can use italics as much as I want to.


End file.
